Just My Soul Responding
by Sapphire-Raindrop
Summary: Bellamy was okay. Or, at least, he put on the appearance of being mostly okay, at least while others were around. But the moment Octavia opened that door to reveal Clarke Griffin, he realized that he wasn't okay. He most definitely wasn't okay. [An alternate take on Bellamy and Clarke's talk in 3x05, aka shameless Bellarke because I'm Bellarke trash and proud of it]


Surely I'm not the only one whose heart was thoroughly mangled by the most recent episode?

So, in true fangirl fashion, I've decided to make my own little snippet of how I think Clarke and Bellamy's discussion should have gone in 3x05. The dialogue I took directly from the episode, so I don't own that, but all of the rest - Bellamy's inner thoughts and the added dialogue/action is mine.

 _Yes, I'm Bellarke trash, and yes this is a shameless fix_ _it_ but I rather liked how it turned out so that's that. I tried my best to not make any of them OOC but eh fix-it fics are hard to do without warping things a LITTLE bit so I'm not that concerned lol

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Just My Soul Responding**

The 100 fanfic by _Sapphire-Raindrop_

* * *

Oh, and I wanna be here when morning comes

When the stars in the sky fade into one

Oh, and I wanna be here when times are hard

When the beating of your heart is like a drum

But every day

I found new ways to hurt you

And every day

We took our sides

And it's just my soul responding to the heavy heart I'm holding

And it's just my soul responding to the love you took from me

 _~"Just My Soul Responding" by Amber Run_

* * *

One moment, Bellamy was arguing with Octavia as she opened the door to a side storage room. The next, he was staring into startlingly blue eyes. Only one person had those eyes, and yet it still took Bellamy a second or two to fully register that yes, Clarke Griffin— _Wanheda_ , a voice cruelly whispered in the back of his mind—was standing there.

Her hair was longer than he remembered, with roughened dreadlocks interspersed throughout. The last time he had seen her, in the eerie glow of the Polis Council Chambers, the blue of her eyes had been masked by green eye-paint, her golden hair diminished by Grounder-style braids. But now, her hair was loose around her shoulders, her face was bare and her eyes were so piercing that Bellamy had to take a deep breath and glance at Octavia to steady himself. He couldn't afford to let her suck him back in. He had done that before, back before Mount Weather, and it had almost destroyed everything.

She trusted the Grounders—she trusted _Lexa—_ more than she trusted her own people and Bellamy wanted to say that he didn't care but god dammit he _did_ _ **.**_

Octavia's eyes bore into his, darker and fiercer than Clarke's.

" _Now_ I'm done," his sister declared before marching from the room and closing the door behind her. Bellamy tilted his head to watch her go, debating for a second whether he should just turn and follow her out. He had nothing to say to Clarke. He didn't want to hear what she needed from him _this_ time.

She needed something from him; she always did. Why else would she be here?

"Go easy on Octavia…I had to beg her to get me into camp," Clarke said softly, and Bellamy stiffened at the familiar husk of her voice. It brought back memories of sitting by fires together, of discussing plans of actions late at night and offering to take the first watch just so he could watch her fuss around adorably in the way she did when she had trouble sleeping.

"Why are you here, Clarke?" he asked, and to his credit his voice remained relatively steady. He looked into her face, hating the way his gaze automatically traced her features, searching for any injuries.

Even after all this time, his first instinct was to keep her safe and he _hated_ it.

"We need to talk," she said, and the familiar tone was grating because it was like she hadn't been gone, it was like nothing had changed which was bullshit because _everything_ had changed.

"Oh, you've decided that? The mighty Wanheda—" Clarke looked away at his use of the title, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of pain in her eyes. "—who chose the Grounders over her own people, who turned her back on us when we came to rescue you…now you want to talk?"

Clarke looked back at him, then. There was an uncanny sense of calm assurance in her expression that reminded him of Lexa. The similarity between the two in that moment made Bellamy want to punch something.

"I came here to tell you that the Ice Nation has paid a price. Justice has been served for the attack on Mount Weather. I came here to tell you that it's over."

She sounded so confident that Bellamy couldn't help but chuckle a bit, because for all of her power and influence she was still so _naïve._

"There it is again. Why do _you_ get to decide it's over?"

"We did our part," Clarke explained, and for the first time since entering the room Bellamy heard a hint of uncertainty in her tone. It made him want to pull her into his arms and shield her from the truth but he adjusted his stance instead, jutting his chin up as he responded.

"We?" he asked, trying to hide his hope because there was _no way_ she was referring to herself and Bellamy. But what if she was? What if—

"Lexa and I…" Clarke trailed off but it didn't matter because Bellamy could hardly _breathe_. He had known that she wasn't referring to their actions at Mount Weather but it still was a punch in the gut to hear it said out loud.

Clarke continued, "The Ice Queen is dead, the problem was solved, and then you let Pike ruin everything!"

Clarke was speaking, but all Bellamy could see is Gina's smile, all he could feel was her steady voice as she said her last words to him. If only he could have known, he would have begged her to come with him, he would have saved her because she was so bright and loving and everything he needed when Clarke left but because of the Grounders she was _dead_ —

"Why are you _here_ , Clarke?" Bellamy bit out. Clarke's brow furrowed slightly at his tone but otherwise her expression didn't change.

"Arkadia needs to make things right, or Lexa and the Twelve Clans will wipe us out."

"Let her try," Bellamy retorted, his hackles rising at the thought of facing the all-powerful _Lexa_ on the battlefield. It was _her_ fault that Clarke had left in the first place; if she hadn't run away like a coward, they wouldn't have had to kill everyone in the Mountain.

Clarke's expression shifted at that, and her voice was soft and pleading as she said, "Please tell me that going to war is not what you want."

Bellamy stared at her. He was once again torn between shaking her until she woke up to reality and pulling her into a tight embrace. Her eyes were wide, like a frightened child's. He couldn't help the softness in his voice as he responded.

"We've been at war since we landed. At least Pike understands that."

"Pike is the _problem_! This isn't who you are," Clarke exclaimed, taking a step towards him. Bellamy stepped backwards to maintain his distance, shaking his head at her assumption because she had _no_ idea. He had helped kill those three hundred Grounder soldiers. He had so much blood on his hands that he was surprised they weren't permanently stained with it.

Bellamy was a monster and everyone around him finally knew it. No matter how much he tried to help his people, he always erred on the side of taking it too far. Clarke had always been the one to pull him back, but that changed when she walked away from Camp Jaha three months ago. _He_ changed.

Bellamy swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're wrong. This is who I've always been. And I let you and Octavia and Kane convince me that we could trust these people when they have shown over and _over_ who they are! I wont let anyone else die for that mistake!" he bellowed.

A hot ache appeared behind his eyes, and he sucked in a deep breath, struggling to regain control. Clarke was staring at him, her brows pulling together and her lips parting. She was so _Clarke_ in that moment that Bellamy felt his chest ache a bit.

"Bellamy…I need you. And we don't have much time," Clarke pleaded, and Bellamy felt his control slipping. The urge to yell and rage at her was almost too much to bear, but he didn't want her to know how much her words hurt, how much of a hold she _still_ had on him.

"You need me," was his bleak and bitter retort.

"Yes! I need the guy who wouldn't let me pull the lever in Mount Weather by myself," Clarke said passionately, and Bellamy was swept backwards in time, to that horrifying moment in which they both touched the lever, sharing the weight of making such an awful, necessary choice. She had been shaking like a leaf, a side effect she probably wasn't aware of, but he was, and the shaking eased when he slid his hand over hers.

 _"Together_. _"_

It was a promise. A promise she had tossed aside by walking away into the woods alone, leaving him to manage a camp weighed down by death and pain.

"You left me….you left _everyone_ ," Bellamy said very carefully, his voice shaking as much as Clarke had in the control room of Mount Weather. His eyes were wet and he knew if he let her talk he would break down. He had managed so well without her, he had moved on with the help of Lincoln, Monty, Kane and Gina and yet the moment she said she _needed_ him everything he had shoved away came rushing to the surface like blood in an open wound.

"Bellamy—"

His name sounded so familiar and worn on her lips, and it made the carefully suppressed rage explode.

"Enough, Clarke! You are not in charge here and that's a good thing because people _die_ when you're in charge. You were willing to let a bomb drop on my sister, and then you made a deal with Lexa, who left us in Mount Weather to die and forced us to kill everyone who helped us! People who _trusted_ me!"

Clarke's face crumpled throughout his entire rant, and by the time he was finished her face was so pained and vulnerable that it broke Bellamy's heart. His fingers twitched as if to touch her, but he clenched his hands into fists to prevent it.

He turned away from her, walking towards the door but unable to tear himself from the burning sun that was Clarke Griffin. Even after cursing her leadership and blaming her for everything awful…he couldn't shake her.

* * *

 _Gina sat with Bellamy in the half-hour or so before they were scheduled to depart to Polis to stop the assassination attempt. Gina didn't cling like girls he had been with before, instead just letting her leg lightly press against his. It offered comfort and understanding without smothering him, and he patted her knee affectionately before leaning in to kiss her._

 _His leg ached a bit, but when Gina asked about it he assured her it was nothing to worry about._

 _"I'm sorry that you couldn't help Clarke, Bellamy," she murmured. He shook his head, strapping on his vest more forcefully than he intended._

 _"It's fine. She's in Polis now, so it all ended well," he said, hoping she couldn't hear how devoid of cheer his voice was. But he should have known better. Her soft hand touched under his chin, forcing him to look up into her gentle eyes._

 _"You're upset that you weren't enough for her to come home."_

 _Bellamy leaned down to tighten the laces on his boots. They were already tight enough, but it gave him the excuse of not looking her in the eye._

" _It was her choice."_

 _"You're deflecting, Bellamy."_

 _"What do you want me to say, Gina?" he asked coolly, not liking the knowing glint in her gaze. Her face smoothed into a neutral expression as she continued to stroke his hair and Bellamy took her other hand in his._

 _Gina's lips quirked into a slightly lopsided smile, but Bellamy could see the grim acceptance there._

 _"You forgot to shave this morning," she said teasingly._

 _Bellamy let her pull her into a slow, long kiss, but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but notice her hypocrisy—deflecting when it came to discussing Clarke Griffin. It both irritated him and made him unbearably sad because he had a feeling that they had both deflected for the same reason._

* * *

A hand on his forearm yanked him from the memory.

It was Clarke. She didn't reach any further for him, but the simple weight of the touch was enough to turn him around to face her. Blue eyes were filled with tears. For a moment she didn't say a word, her lips trembling, but she was looking at him like she finally _understood_. He didn't know how much he had missed it until that moment.

"I'm sorry. Bellamy, I didn't…I did the best I could. I tried to do what was best but I can't…I never wanted to _hurt_ anyone," she said brokenly, her voice so small that he had to strain to hear it. A sob shuddered through her, and her blue eyes locked on his as she continued.

"I shouldn't have left. I thought that it was best for everyone, but it…it was because I was scared. I should have stayed; I should have been here with you. I'm so _sorry_ ," Clarke finished, and her hand tightened on his forearm but Bellamy didn't even feel the prick of her fingernails.

No, he was too focused on the tears falling from her eyes, the husk of her voice, the warmth of her skin so close to him and without any of the barriers erected by Lexa and the Grounders. It was just Clarke and Bellamy again, just two people who kept each other afloat in a chaotic game of survival.

 _It's_ always _going to be Clarke_.

The revelation was so sudden that Bellamy frowned and blinked a few times. It had come seemingly out of nowhere, prompted by… _something_ in that moment. But as he stared down at her, he knew it had been true for far longer than that. It didn't change what she had done, it didn't excuse it, but it was done.

Both of them had done horrible, unspeakable things, things that would never be justifiable. They would probably never fully heal, they would fuck up and scream and fight because they were only human.

But he would rather do all of that with Clarke standing next to him then do it alone.

Clarke froze at the touch of Bellamy's hand against her cheek. He swallowed heavily, letting his fingers cradle her jaw and cheek while his thumb lightly traced the delicate skin under her eye. It wasn't as thoughtless and hurried as his touch had been when attempting to rescue her from the Grounder man in the underground shelter. It was nothing like that at all.

She didn't push him away, though her eyes were wide with surprise. But after a moment, her own fingers lightly ran up his arm until they gripped his bicep, and Bellamy shivered at the sensation.

"Clarke, I…" Bellamy began, but found that he couldn't come up with words for what he was thinking. What _was_ he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?

Clarke didn't respond, and Bellamy had never been surer of her than he was in that moment. She knew what he was trying to say even when he couldn't speak the words.

Bellamy wasn't sure who moved in first, but suddenly they were kissing and it was like coming back to a place that Bellamy hadn't known existed until he arrived there and felt the overwhelming sense of _home_. The kiss was wet with Clarke's tears and more chaste than any kiss Bellamy had given or received, but it was home and Bellamy never wanted it to end.

Clarke pulled back slightly, looking up at him with drier eyes that were filled with both trepidation and desire. Bellamy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing down at her pink lips before swooping down to claim them once more.

Their second kiss was considerably less chaste than the first.

Months of suppressed desire flooded Bellamy's body, and before he could stop to think he had already lifted her into his arms, arms locked tightly around her lower back. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and the feel of her inner thighs clamping down on his hips made him groan into her mouth. Her kisses were fierce and hot and her hands scrabbled for purchase against him—tracing his shoulders, clutching his arms, tugging at his hair like she couldn't get enough.

It took every bit of Bellamy's strength to pull himself away so he could pay tribute to the smooth column of her throat.

In the brief moment before he did so, he caught a glimpse of her face. It was the same familiar face of Clarke but there was this flabbergasted expression that made Bellamy's heart thud even more quickly in his chest because he could see the same revelation he had come to dancing in every curve and crease.

 _It's always going to be you._

He could see Clarke desperately trying to put walls up, to prevent things from getting more raw and _real_ , but Bellamy wasn't about to let her retreat. He smirked before leaning forward to press his mouth to the skin just below her ear.

Her skin tasted like sweat and heat and dirt but he didn't care. The feel of it against his lips—expanding with her gasps—was more gratifying than a drink of cold water on a hot day. The thrum of her heartbeat against his tongue was both arousing and comforting, and it tugged at his him until it was all he could do not to hug her so tightly that she could never escape his embrace again.

Bellamy shuddered when Clarke's fingernails raked against his scalp. He tilted his head back to look her in the face, setting her down on the table while staying between her thighs. Her eyes scorched through him like hot coals but her smile was gentle as she traced a finger down his face, lingering on his brow, jaw and chin. The comparatively innocent touch struck him to his core, and his fingers splayed wide to encompass both sides of her ribcage. Her breaths filled his hands and made him so very aware of how fragile she was, of how easily she could be taken from him.

They stayed like that for a few moments, two broken leaders leaning on each other because to the rest of the world they had to stand upright no matter what they felt.

"We'll find a way to fix this," Clarke whispered, and for the first time since her leaving after Mount Weather, Bellamy felt the familiar swell of complete and utter confidence in his chest because he could hear it in her voice; she meant _we_ as in _Clarke and Bellamy_.

"Together," he promised.

Her face crumpled a bit at that, and she let out a watery laugh before leaning forward to press her forehead against his. Their noses brushed together, her breath warmed his lips, and one of her hands reached up to cradle the back of his neck. The other hand moved to cover Bellamy's hand, which was still on Clarke's waist. Her eyes were closed, her lips full and pink against her paler skin, and Bellamy let his eyes close as well.

He never wanted to leave that room.

The rest of the camp waited outside, as well the brewing war between Arkadia and the Twelve Clans. There was so much conflict and pain out there, and yet behind a single closed door Bellamy was able to find a semblance of peace. In her smile, her kisses, under the weight of her stare, the monster that clawed at his consciousness retreated ever so slightly. But even in Clarke's embrace he knew that things were far from resolved.

Bellamy had aided Pike in killing three hundred Grounders, the isolationist regime was still very much in place and Octavia, Lincoln and Kane all held incredible contempt for what he had let happen. Bellamy, too, hated himself for what he had done, and yet as he looked into Clarke's eyes he let himself believe that not all was lost. With Clarke by his side, with her blue eyes grounding him and _reminding_ him, he could breathe freely again.

Her smaller fingers slid against his as he tightened his grip, and she pressed a soft kiss against his mouth.

They didn't speak again for a long time, but they didn't need to. Many things had changed in Clarke's absence, but their ability to communicate beyond the scope of spoken words hadn't changed a bit.

 _Together_ , the kiss said.

As did the many that followed.


End file.
